and scrambling up over it. Conflicted, he watched her disappear out of sight.
As he got back to the helo, the aircraft's rotors were humming up to full power. Beneath the sound, he could hear the skirl of approaching sirens.
Hermann was already on board, and Hardesty stood waiting. 'You get her?' he demanded.
'Nothing out there,' Saxon replied. 'If you missed one, they're long gone.'
'What?' the American grabbed him by the collar, his eyes wide with anger. 'I gave you one simple order-'
Saxon said nothing, shook himself free, and climbed into the flyer.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Romeo Airport-Michigan-United States of America
After the helo returned to the barren, isolated airstrip, the rest of the night passed in sullen silence. Hardesty boarded the parked jet in the hangar for what he said would be his 'debrief,' but until Namir and the others returned from the operation in Detroit, there was little any of them could do but wait.
The thought of getting back on the jet made Saxon feel claustrophobic, and he walked the apron of the airport, turning over his doubts and his fears, unable to make peace with the disquiet that continued to grow inside him like a cancer.
The unrest he felt was reaching critical mass-he could sense it. All the small details, all the little things he had let pass over the last few months, now they accreted into a mass of contradictions and challenges he could no longer turn away from. He had tried to convince himself that Namir had been right, back in the field hospital-that what the Tyrants were doing was making a difference to the world, holding back a rising tide of chaos; but the longer he went on, the less he believed it. Namir had assured him that they would find the men responsible for the failure of Operation Rainbird, the terrorists who planted the false data that led Strike Six to their doom. But aside from vague promises, nothing had been resolved.
Have I been played for a fool all along? It frustrated Saxon that he could not be certain of the answer to that question.
There was an annex at the side of the hangar building, a line of rooms. He went inside, fatigue dogging him. He felt it rise up; he wanted to rest, to close his eyes and make all of it go away, if only for a short time. But instead of solace he found Gunther Hermann, seated at a plain table with ordered lines of weapon components spread out in front of him. He recognized parts of a Widowmaker, still blackened from being fired hours earlier. A pistol, yet to be dismantled, sat within the German's reach.
'Where have you been?' he asked.
'Taking the air,' Saxon replied irritably. He studied Hermann for a few moments, trying to take the measure of him; but it was impossible to get a read from those eyes. They were dead, like a shark's.
'You have something to say to me?' said the younger man. The challenge was clear in his manner.
The question came before he could stop himself. 'How many people died in that house tonight?'
'All of them.' Hermann didn't show the slightest flicker of concern.
'And you don't have a problem with that?'
'Why should I?' He put down the cleaning rod in his hand and studied Saxon. 'You heard what Hardesty said. They were targets. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Collateral damage.'
Saxon's jaw set at the man's matter-of-fact tone. 'That's how you see it, yeah? Black and white? Hardesty says kill and you do it, like a good little dog?'
A tiny flicker of emotion crossed Hermann's face. 'I am a soldier. I follow orders.'
Saxon shook his head. 'I didn't sign up for this. Not to butcher civvies.'
'What did you expect?' Hermann replied, confusion in his tone. 'Did you come to the Tyrants expecting to keep your hands clean? That is not what we do.' He tapped the table with an iron finger. 'I had thought a man of your experience would have no illusions, Saxon. We do the worst of deeds in order to protect the world from itself. Because no one else can.'
'And who gets to decide?' he shot back. 'Don't you ever wonder about that? About who calls the shots?' Saxon leaned closer. 'You were GSG 9, right? German police, antiterror unit. When you followed orders then, you were following the law-'
Hermann snorted softly. 'When I was with them, the law was a rope around our necks. It kept us from making any progress.' He shook his head. 'Do you know what Namir said when he recruited me in Berlin, what made me decide to go with him? He told me that the Tyrants did not concern themselves with laws. Only justice. The group erased all my connections to the police force and I was happy they did.' He nodded.
'What we are doing is right. The ends are justified.'
Saxon tried to find an answer that didn't stick in his throat, but before he could frame a reply the door opened and Barrett entered. He shrugged off his combat armor and gave them both a level look. 'Miss me?'
'It's done, then?' said Hermann, his conversation with Saxon dismissed. The other man was almost eager to hear what had taken place in
Detroit. 'Were there any complications?'
'Nothing we couldn't take in stride,' said the big man. He glanced at Saxon. 'That cop you were so worried about? Namir broke him in two.'
Barrett helped himself to a beer from a cooler and drained it in a single pull.
'What about the people being held there? By Sarif?' said Saxon.
Barrett smiled thinly. 'Oh, we handled them.' He paused, massaging a contusion on the side of his skull. 'They weren't that pleased to see us, though…' He made a face. 'Some folks, huh? No goddamn gratitude.'
Saxon glanced out into the hangar. 'Where's Federova?'
The other man folded his arms. 'Well, now. Would have been back here with me and the boss, but 'stead she's still out in the field.' He aimed a finger at Saxon. 'Cleaning up your mess.'
'What the hell is that supposed to mean?'
Barrett gave a shrug of his shoulders. 'You tell me. Barely got our cargo secured from Sarif before Hardesty is on the horn to Namir, bitchin' a blue streak.'
'We achieved our objective,' Hermann insisted. 'Temple was terminated.'
Barrett kept his eyes on Saxon. 'Heard you let one get away.'
'Bullshit,' Saxon insisted. 'Hardesty's just covering his own arse.'
'Whatever you say, man.' Barrett shrugged again and walked away.
Silver Springs-Maryland-United States of America
Kelso knew even as she did it that she was making a mistake. How many times had she seen criminals caught in the very same situation she was in now, and for the same reason? She knew better. The smart play was to fade away, get out of the city, and keep on going.
That wasn't what she had done. Anna kept her head down and walked in the places where the streetlights didn't shine too brightly, staying to the shadows. Instead of fleeing, she followed a basic, animal instinct to return to where she felt safest. Home.
Maybe now she understood those criminals a little better than she had when she was on the other side of the badge. For most people, it was counterintuitive to just cut and run. She understood that impulse; the raw need to go to ground. She tried to convince herself she was being smart-after all, no one would expect her to go back to her apartment-but she knew that wasn't it at all. She couldn't just leave. Not yet.
From the road she had glimpsed the spherical shape of a police monitor drone squatting on the lawn, the clusters of eyes on the robot ceaselessly scanning the area. The device's face-matching and body-mapping software would be programmed with her biometric profile, and she'd be made in a moment if she strayed too close. Instead, Anna detoured around the back and got in through a damaged window near the trash bins on the ground floor. For once, she was pleased that her landlord had reacted with his characteristic slowness in fixing the problem.
She took the stairs to the fourth floor. Another sensor, this one the size of her fist, was attached to her front door. A built-in holograph projected
